a new perspective on storms
by spheeris1
Summary: AU :: Four-part fic :: Bianca & Marissa POVs :: Introspection. Conversation. Sex & love. :: 'It only takes a second for your whole world to change.' :: A Minx of a different color, kids. :: COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**I cannot stress enough the fact that this is an AU fanfiction. Some things remain the same; many things do not. I also cannot stress enough the fact that I know nothing of how divorce proceedings work or what it is like in Mexico. However, that's why we call this stuff 'fiction'.**

**Just a crazy idea that I hope to wrap up in exactly two parts.**

/

Reese didn't want to fight and Bianca didn't want to wait.

That's really all either of them needed to know, so once the decision was made – that painful and slightly bitter decision of separation, of ending things for better or worse – Bianca didn't bother calling up Uncle Jack for advice and a dose of comfort; she didn't deliver this news to Kendall and wait for the inevitable moment where her sister transformed into her protector.

Bianca's mother almost steamrolled her into full disclosure after ushering Miranda and Gabby upstairs, the two girls worn out from a long flight and easily collapsing onto one bed to sleep.

"Bianca…" Her mother started as soon as the bedroom door shut with a soft click. "Tell me what has happened. What is going on with you and Reese? What has **she** done?"

Of course, that would be a long story to tell and Bianca just did not have the time to tell it. She didn't have the time to correct that last question, to tell her mother that it takes two for a relationship to falter and fall apart. Bianca didn't have time to weep, to mourn, to seek shelter in her mother's arms and to ponder the hard road ahead.

Bianca didn't have the time because she needed to get back to the airport.

"The airport? But **why**? You just got here from Paris—" Erica Kane nearly exclaimed but was cut off by the wave of Bianca's hand.  
>"I should only be gone for a day, at the most. I just need to take care of something and it needs to be done as soon as possible, so if you can watch the girls for me…?"<br>"You know I will, but really, Bianca, I think you should tell me what is going on."

Bianca already had her hand on the door knob, eager to get this nightmare over with as quickly as she could. Like ripping a band-aid off instead of slowly pulling it away from your skin, Bianca wanted today to already be tomorrow.

She didn't turn around but she said as much as she wanted to in that moment; she said all that really needed to be said.

"I'm going to get a divorce."

/

Marissa didn't want to fight and J.R. didn't leave her many options.

She had allowed too many chances to slip away, all in her pursuit of the threads of her past – seeking parents who hadn't wanted her in the first place, eager to erase the days she spent with her hands on other people for money – and when J.R.'s affections shifted, the world shifted, too.

So, when she stared at the photograph of a child that was not even hers and then walked away before tears could begin, Marissa took the only option she felt was around.

She walked away from Pine Valley as simply as she had walked into it.

That was a year and a half ago, though. And Marissa doesn't like to dwell on the past. She likes to focus on the here-and-now; she likes to focus on the hot sunlight beaming through the windows or the bright blue awning on the building opposite of hers or the sounds of traffic outside – always awake, always moving.

Just as she didn't expect to end up in Pine Valley all those many, many months ago – with love and heartache and family and lies – Marissa did not expect to end up in Mexico City either. But with a suitcase full of clothes, a couple of legal documents, and career barely off the ground… well, it became easy to travel outside the box. It became increasing possible to start anew in ways she would have never fathomed.

Marissa might never understand her past but she was determined to shape her future.

And this is where she has landed. For now.

In a completely different kind of valley, with the curious juxtaposition of thick polluted air in the downtown and Popocatépetl looming in the distance, Marissa makes the type of money that could take her years to amass back in the States. Perhaps it should make her feel bad, the fact that she is making a profit off of the desperate and sad faces of the emotionally weary…

…But Marissa doesn't dwell on that.

She thinks about the here-and-now; she doesn't sit around at night and think about that little boy's smile in that other town; she doesn't think about her 'real' parents and wonder if the three of them could have forged a whole new relationship.

No, Marissa doesn't think about those things.

She thinks about the next client that will show up at her door; she thinks about the hefty paycheck that will slide into her hands from someone who needs a really quick and relatively painless divorce; she thinks about the new friends she has made over drinks and she thinks about the apartment she keeps in Colonia Roma.

That's as far as she will allow her thoughts to go.

For now.

/

It could have been Nevada. They can process a legal separation in a matter of a few days and then shove you towards a flashy bar so you can drown your sorrows the good ol' American way.

After all, who doesn't want a bit of glamour and a bit of glitz when their world is shattering?

Speed, though, is what Bianca required. Speed and efficiency and absolutely no connection to any other part of her life – that's what Bianca **needed**.

She needed this to be over now; she needed to cut all ties and pick up the pieces of her existence on the flight back to her children. Time is for those who wish to figure things out and Bianca didn't need to figure out anything this go-around.

Reese never loved her the way a wife should.

And, maybe, the days of Bianca loving Reese the 'right' way were long gone, too.

So, Bianca Montgomery looked for someone who could provide urgent assistance without asking questions, someone who wouldn't look to divulge this failing marriage to the press, someone who did as they were paid to do and nothing more.

And so Bianca found that person.

By seven a.m., she was on the airplane and, after a stopover in Houston, she arrived in the heart of Mexico around noon. She gave the address to the cab driver and gripped the door handle as the man barreled through smog-covered traffic, bypassing all the usual tourist traps and ignoring the towering business buildings by their side.

_In a few hours_, Bianca thinks, _I will no longer be a married woman_.

The thought is still fresh to her, despite her determination to finalize things sooner rather than later. The thought is still able to slice at her skin, still able to cause a twinge of agony if she turns a certain way – if she looks back at the times when Reese adored her, if she lingers too long over the moments when she could stare into Reese's eyes and see forever.

_In a few hours, I will be single once again._

Oh, she has her girls and that is everything; she has this family that truly loves her and supports her and would move mountains for her if they could.

But it is not the same and Bianca knows it.

_In a few hours, I will be alone._

/

The appointment had been made via email, with all the appropriate details enclosed, and Marissa reviews the cut-and-dry facts of another marriage hitting the rocks with a practiced eye. There are children involved but both parties had already come to an agreement on visitations with their own particular terms – bouncing between where the primary parent would be living (currently unknown) and where the adoptive parent would reside (Paris, France).

_Must be nice for things to work out like that, _Marissa thinks as she scans the rest of the email.

When J.R. decided that their marriage would not last, Marissa was not totally surprised. She was always secretly craving stability and J.R. was always not-so-secretly seeking out passion. They were always a bit too much like oil and water – they just did not mix well. They had their moments, sure, but those moments were not frequent. However, they did have an overwhelming amount of love for A.J. in common. That boy is his father's world and, slowly but surely, that boy became a part of Marissa's world, too.

She could look at A.J. and see forever in his sweet gaze.

She could look at that boy and the past didn't matter so much anymore; she felt that her love for A.J. was like a shot at redemption for all the stupid things she had done just to get along.

Of course, that turned out to just be a daydream – just like all the other dreams she has followed without forethought; heart first and head last – and when J.R. called it quits, ready to start over with someone new, Marissa's role as 'mother' was collateral damage.

Marissa did not do as the other woman in this email; she didn't adopt A.J. and fully take on that mantle of parent. She kept one foot out the door, just in case things did not work out. She kept her emotions as close to the vest as she could. She didn't want to be hurt again. She was as afraid of losing as she was of actually having.

Of course, Marissa is pretty good at hurting herself when no one else steps up to do the job.

She was always only halfway there, never all the way – not in the marriage, not in the love she would give, not in the joy she would allow herself – and that's why she could walk away. That's why Marissa could disappear to another country. That's why Marissa can look at these cases and turn a profit and still sleep at night.

Marissa has learned that the best way to not get burned is to never get close enough to the fire in the first place.

A knock at the door causes Marissa's gaze to flick upward and away from the computer screen. It's exactly thirty-five minutes after twelve on a Thursday afternoon and, according to the email she's been perusing, that knock probably belongs to a Ms. Bianca Montgomery.

"Come in."

/

A lot can happen in a matter of seconds.

It doesn't always take a lifetime to find happiness or to meet a soulmate. Sometimes, it is the most mundane of experiences that leads to a person's ultimate triumph. Sometimes, life gives you exactly what you want – just not in any way that you would have imagined.

/

Neither one of them make casual conversation. It's not like they are long-lost friends meeting up for the first time in years. This is a lawyer and a client, nothing more than that.

Marissa asks questions and types up answers, faxes papers and puts an 'x' by every line that Bianca must sign and date. Bianca nods her head and, when she must vocalize a response, her voice is almost deafeningly soft.

Marissa is pretty damn good at reading the people who show up at her office door and she can tell that this Bianca Montgomery is nearing the end of whatever strength is left – it shows in the woman's dark brown eyes as they flit around, it sits restlessly upon the woman's shoulders. Bianca Montgomery is hanging on by a thread and Marissa is actually concerned what might happen once that last tether is cut.

Bianca is no slouch in the ability to observe others either; it has been a keen trait to have in the world of major business transactions. She can see the quick way Marissa Tasker's gaze will go over the words on the screen or on some piece of paper but how that very same look will unwittingly slow down when it lands on Bianca herself. That look pauses as if it wants to convey some kind of condolence – and then the covert stare breaks and it is a return to professional form.

The first time that things shift, quite unexpectedly, is when Marissa asks Bianca for a specific place of residence to put in an admen to the original agreement.

"I don't know, I mean… I suppose, for now, it will be back in Pennsylvania." Bianca answers with faint sigh. Really, despite her great love for her family, living in Pine Valley is not as appealing as it may have once been. In fact, Bianca isn't sure **where** she wants to be these days.

Marissa smiles inwardly, though it is not truly a pleased sort of reaction. More like irony twisting her features just the tiniest bit and then she pushes it off of her face as rapidly as it arrived. This is no time for her past to interfere with the present.

"Anywhere in particular in Pennsylvania?" Marissa asks.

Bianca Montgomery's answer is given off-handedly but it still rattles some of the poise that Marissa has relied on for the past year and a half.

"Right. Sorry. It would be in Pine Valley, Pennsylvania."

Because it is one thing to think of a place all on your own but it is something else entirely when that place appears to be looking for you.

"…Pine Valley, hmm?" Marissa murmurs quietly, not even able to catch herself before the syllables leave her mouth. Bianca looks more directly at Marissa Tasker; recognizes that faraway shade to the woman's eyes and suddenly things seem like they could be a little more complicated than before.

Because, even with Erica Kane as a hometown girl, Pine Valley isn't a destination on everyone's lips and it certainly isn't a place that a lawyer in Mexico City should know of.

"Have you been to Pine Valley before… or something?" Bianca questions cautiously. Marissa comes back to reality at that inquiry and flashes a reassuring smile to her client, deciding that she is not at all interested in finding out if their previous lives somehow have a bigger connection.

"No. Not at all. I've, uh, been to Pennsylvania before though. Long time ago." Marissa replies as she goes back to typing at the keyboard and printing out page after page of legal work.

And even though there is a voice inside of Bianca's mind that is telling her that this woman is lying, she decides to ignore those warnings in the name of getting this whole matter settled and finished for good.

When every bit of communication between Bianca in Mexico City and Reese in Paris is transferred, every 'I' is dotted and every 't' is crossed, every semblance of what was once a marriage is whittled down to just lines upon endless pages… When it is all said and done, the time on Bianca's watch and on Marissa's computer screen reads five o'clock.

"Okay, Ms. Montgomery, everything is taken care of. I have made copies of all the legal documents, in paper form, and sent them to your email address as well. Of course, as you know, I've facilitated the actual separation but you will have to file some of this information in Pennsylvania, especially in regards to your children and the terms you have set up with Ms. Williams – for your own legal protection."

Marissa says all of this as she places papers in folders and as she stops to stamp official seals on the bottom of each page. Bianca opens up her purse but keeps the plain white envelope buried at the bottom of the bag. It was a small wonder she was able to get that much actual cash through customs; she did not stick around long enough at the airport terminal to question her good fortune, though.

"I appreciate your time and energy on this matter, Ms. Tasker." Bianca says as she fishes out the correct amount that was stated in Marissa Tasker's first reply email. The relatively small-looking stack of bills is handed over and Marissa takes the money without any hesitation.  
>"Well, it <strong>is<strong> my job." Marissa responds with a small grin and Bianca Montgomery even manages a real grin of her own, coupling the gesture with a tiny huff of self-depreciating laughter.  
>"Right. Of course. I <strong>almost<strong> forgot why I was here…" Bianca says quietly, eyes going down to her hands and Marissa's own gaze goes to her desktop and the cash sitting there.

/

A lot can happen in a matter of seconds.

A whole universe can change with just one look or one comment; everything you've known up to this point can be turned on its head and you'll finally see the world in a whole new way.

All it takes is a moment. Just one. That's all.

/

Maybe it is the memory of Pine Valley after all; maybe it is the past that causes Marissa to speak up, to cross that very important barrier and actually show some caring to another person. Maybe, on this day and at this hour, Marissa was **meant **to say something more than legal-speak to Bianca Montgomery.

"I… I know it sounds **really** clichéd but it won't always feel like this, Ms. Montgomery. One day you will, you know, 'almost forget' and mean it."

And then they are looking at one another, truly looking, and instead of barriers being stepped over, it's like those barriers are completely gone. Marissa Tasker is a woman on the run; she lost faith in Pine Valley and lies about it to everyone. Bianca Montgomery is a woman lost at sea; she lost solid ground in Paris and pretends she is standing strong. They are masters at this game of smoke and mirrors; they are the most truthful fakers in the world.

Except for right now. Except for this single solitary point in time.

"…I hope so, Ms. Tasker… I **really** hope you are right."

It is just another shift, a secondary step off the pre-programmed path. Who knows just how much they would have revealed without saying another word to one another had the lights not flickered ever so briefly and had a lengthy roll of thunder not caused the floor beneath their feet to actually vibrate.

Both of them break the suddenly intense staring and look out the window of the office, noticing for the first time that the weather has gone from sunny to decidedly overcast. Marissa even notices that the wind has picked up, fluttering the various flags and banners hanging from surrounding businesses along the street.

When she turns back to face Bianca Montgomery, Marissa catches the quick downturn of the woman's head and, somehow, Marissa knows that the woman had not been looking out the window anymore. And, oddly enough, some kind of shy reaction bubbles up inside of Marissa's body and she has to focus on something – _anything _– in order to shove the feeling aside.

"Do you have a flight out tonight?" Marissa asks as she hands over the various folders.  
>"Yes, in a couple of hours." Bianca answers as she takes the files and holds them semi-against her chest.<p>

They look at each other, smile in the smallest of ways, and then Marissa looks to her computer and Bianca glances back out the window. Out of the corner of her eye, though, Marissa is watching Bianca Montgomery – the way the woman's head is ever so slightly tilted back and how that adds a kind of graceful line one could follow from the forehead to the end of the neck…

Marissa sort of chokes on nothing at all and clears her throat, which seems to startle Bianca Montgomery away from the increasingly storm-like weather going on outside of these office walls.

"Are you okay?"

Bianca takes this opportunity to study Marissa's face as the woman inhales deeply and drinks from a mug that has been sitting on this desk the entire time. And as wildly inappropriate as it may be, Bianca does take note of the fact that Marissa Tasker is not at all hard to look at. But Bianca just acknowledges this information; she has no intention to act on it as that would truly cross a line.

Still, it is nice to know that while she is broken-hearted and emotionally drained, she isn't totally dead to the world.

Perhaps, though, it is more about the kindness underneath the formalities; perhaps it is the fact that Marissa Tasker let her guard down when least expected and offered up something sincere for Bianca to grab ahold of. It could be everything and nothing at all that is making Bianca want to open up to this virtual stranger – to spill her guts about the mess that is her life, to commiserate with someone who just might truly understand what she is going through, to no longer be the pillar of strength that everyone (herself included) expects her to be and to just be Bianca with someone… if only for a little while.

"Yea, I'm okay… I think…" Marissa finally replies with a grumble and a laugh.

Again, they smile and it is real instead of practiced and they both visibly stumble as they look away once more. It is definitely strange – on the surface. But it is not so strange if one were to dig down further, if one were to recognize the similarities between these two women and realizes that for as much as they hide, they both want to be found.

Marissa walks Bianca out and helps to wave down a taxi. The clouds up above are no longer just a bland gray; they have grown dark and ominous. The rain has started, if only lightly, and it actually feels good against the skin after a day of heat.

"Thank you, Ms. Tasker. This, uh, this hasn't been a good day for me and you've made it tolerable."

Marissa takes a small chance and reaches out, placing her hand lightly on the side of Bianca Montgomery's shoulder.

"I am glad I could help, Ms. Montgomery… and it's Marissa, okay?"

Bianca reaches out as well, briefly wrapping her own hand around some of Marissa's forearm.

"Okay, Marissa… and it's Bianca."

The thunder makes a return appearance and lightning illuminates the sky with a crack, causing both women to jump apart. A taxi finally sees them and glides up to the sidewalk. The rain is falling down harder now and Bianca hurries to the car door, darting in without another look back.

The taxi pulls away.

The job is done.

The money is on that desk.

And it takes a minute for Marissa's feet to move from her place on the sidewalk, from watching that taxi cab disappear down the road.

/ / /

**To Be Continued-**


	2. Chapter 2

**I did say 'hope to wrap up in exactly two parts' – emphasis on 'hope'. But the next part will be the last, so there you go. Promises, promises, eh?**

/

Bianca finds herself thinking about fate; thinking about destiny. A sequence of events that is inevitable and unchangeable, that's what fate is and that's what destiny is all about. It is the idea that no matter what path a person may choose, the destination will always be the same.

The notion of fate can be a saving grace or a cruel joke – depending on which side of the coin you call out as it spins in the air. Will it be heads and love lasts forever? Or will it be tails and everything ends?

Sitting at this stop sign as the rain falls in sheets and as the driver of this taxi wipes at the windshield with the palm of his hand in order to see the road, Bianca wonders if this country is actually going to let her leave without a fight or are bigger plans in motion after all.

She tries, in vain, to listen to the driver as he talks into the two-way radio but her Spanish is rather limited. Whatever words Bianca catches of this one-sided conversation are like missing puzzle pieces to some bigger picture she cannot see. After what seems like a really long ten minutes, the driver turns around and delivers the not-so-good news.

"The roads are flooding. Too much rain too quickly."

Bianca notices, with some amount of weary irritation, that the man's English is perfect.

"But I **have **to get to the airport. Isn't there another way to get there?" Bianca questions as calmly as possible. Her hands, though, are gripping those folders to the point of creating indentations. The driver shakes his head first – in the negative – and then vocalizes the reality that Bianca wants to ignore.

"It is worse near the airport, ma'am. It's a really bad storm. You need to stay here in the city tonight."

And none of this is part of the plan.

This was supposed to be a quick trip, albeit a painful one, and she was supposed to arrive back in Pennsylvania late tonight. She was supposed to use that time up in the air to silently grieve, to order a drink (or two or three) and say good-bye to a future no longer viable. She was supposed to be able look at the sleeping faces of her girls tonight and, with that vision, be able to remind herself that not everything is lost; not everything is wrong in her life right now.

Fate, though, will have its way. And so destiny deems that Bianca Montgomery remain in Mexico City for a little bit longer.

/

By the time she turns out the lights and locks the door to the office, the rain is moving sideways through the air. The traffic has ground down to a stand-still, all blinking turn signals and engines idling as people wait out the deluge of water falling from the skies.

_It's a bad day to be caught outside_, that's what Marissa Tasker thinks with a disappointed groan.

_It's a bad day to have decided to walk those five blocks to work_, that's what Marissa Tasker knows without a single shred of doubt.

The rumbling of thunder has not left the heavens, nor have the flashes of lightning lessened. This is one storm that seems to want to stick around and make an impact. Marissa could wait it out like everyone else; she could turn right back around and sit in that office. She could eat the somewhat stale pack of crackers that she keeps in her right-side drawer and called that dinner. She could stay dry, she could stare at the walls or read over old client files, she could watch the wind blow over the streets and turn all those puddles into mini-waves – all from the office windowsill.

But that just does not appeal to her in the slightest.

It's not been a long day. It's been an odd day, though. It's been a day where the past got just a little closer than it needed to; it's been a day where Marissa did a couple of things that she doesn't normally do.

And so she wants to go home. She wants to go home and take a long bath and push the world away.

Marissa isn't even in the right kind of shoes for running along slick concrete but to run is the only way she'll make it to her apartment without being washed away. Five blocks is a leisurely walk on a sunny morning, coffee in one hand and briefcase held in the other hand. Five blocks is a decent work-out if you are the kind to jog at five a.m., before the vendors come alive and before the business men rush those corporate gates.

During weather like this, though, five blocks is like some brutally unexpected segment of boot camp.

By the time she reaches Colonia Roma, Marissa is soaked through and through. As she drips water everywhere she steps within the relative quiet of her building's foyer, Marissa hears the faint sing-song tune of her cell phone coming from her coat pocket.

The number is unfamiliar…

"Marissa Tasker speaking."  
>"Ms. Tasker, uh, this is Bianca Montgomery."<p>

…but the voice that greets her isn't unfamiliar at all. There is a momentary jolt that races through Marissa's body the second she recognizes the woman's voice over the phone line.

That's just another thing about this day that has not made sense to Marissa - her reaction to Bianca Montgomery. Sure, she knows that this unspoken connection between them where Pine Valley is concerned does play a part but that's just not all there is to it.

Of course, Marissa isn't sure she truly wants to know all the other parts of this puzzle.

"It's Marissa… remember?" Marissa replies softly with a smile already forming on her lips.

But just like that, the fine lines are erased once again and she is responding to Bianca Montgomery as if she has known the woman for much longer than just a day.

Marissa is opening the door without a second thought and, for the first time in a long while, she wants someone to walk in.

/

"_It's Marissa… remember?"_

Bianca isn't sure what is going on, only that it is happening and she isn't fast enough to stop it. Or, rather, a part of her doesn't want to stop whatever is going on – so she calls this person, this lawyer who was only meant to be in her life for a short period of time, and she reaches out when every voice in her head says to be still.

"I remember." Bianca returns in kind, her own voice like a whisper. She clears her throat, though, and tries for some semblance of control. Because this isn't the day for something like this, whatever **this** is. This isn't the day; this isn't the right moment. This is **not** how things should happen.

Bianca doesn't want an experience with fate right now. She is done with destiny today; she's done with fairy tales and forever-and-ever-after kind of daydreams.

"So… is something wrong with the paperwork? Do you have more questions?" Marissa prompts and Bianca is called out of her determined inner-speeches.

"I do have a question but it is not about any of that. I, uh, need some suggestions for somewhere to stay tonight. The roads are flooded and I called the airport to rearrange my flight. I won't be leaving until the morning."

And Bianca isn't sure what is going on but she is holding her breath, as if she knows something is coming and she cannot be certain if she'll make it through any of this – not the divorce, not this storm in Mexico City, not this rush of want that pushes at her insides without the slightest provocation or invitation whenever Marissa Tasker speaks.

All her plans are falling forward, one by one, and Bianca could try to turn the tide. Or she can step back and see where these chips will fall. It's not picking a path; it's not a clear choice being made. It is interest mingling with trepidation and this is **not** the right time for such an interaction. Of course, with her track record, Bianca does not know if there is ever a 'right' time for anything in this world.

There are just moments and nothing more. There are just seconds to feel something for someone and then it passes.

And perhaps, for Bianca, living in the moment is not as terrible as it once seemed.

/

"You can stay with me if you'd like."

Fate.  
>Destiny.<br>It's **something**, though neither of them can put a name on it – not yet.

And Marissa's suggestion just tumbles out, not a bit of forethought or warning to it. It is an undiluted statement, coming from somewhere deep inside Marissa's soul and coming from someone caught up in a sudden gust of longing.

And instead of immediately balking and backpedalling, Bianca does the complete opposite. Instead of being cautious, Bianca throws caution to the wind.

"Okay. I'll stay with you."

/

For a few minutes or so, they sit there in a somewhat awkward silence.

Bianca said '_thank you so much for this_' as she walked through the door and Marissa waved off the gratitude in a nonchalant sort of way, saying that it was '_no big deal _'. After that exchange, though, neither one of them seemed to know quite what to say.

But then they both look at one another – Marissa with a sheepish grin and Bianca with an amused roll of the eyes – and the stalemate of conversation is broken.

"Well, **that** wasn't at all uncomfortable or anything was it?" Marissa jokes as she pushes herself off the couch and walks towards the kitchen. Bianca follows the woman's movements – the opening of the refrigerator, the rummaging around in cabinets – and then she shrugs her shoulders in a relaxed manner when Marissa is facing her once more.

"Hey, that's the best five minutes of totally weird silence I've ever shared with someone I barely know."

Bianca smiles after she says this, a really warm and wonderful kind of smile, and Marissa feels her damn heart actually skip a beat. And she should be so scared of this; she should feel so terrified about every single part of this.

The reaction Marissa decides upon, though, is to grab two bottles of beer and offer one to Bianca.

"Then I think we should get to know each other better… you know, to make the next quiet time a little less strange. Sound good to you?"

Bianca takes hold of the dark brown glass bottle with a small nod of acquiescence.

"Sounds perfect."

/

"What about the twenty questions thing?" Marissa suggests as they sit there and sip their drinks.  
>"I can do that. Just, you know, no boring questions."<br>"What's a boring question to you?"  
>"Like asking what my favorite color is or—"<br>"But you can tell a lot about a person by what their favorite color is."  
>"It's <strong>just<strong> a color."  
>"And it can say <strong>a lot<strong> about a person…"  
>"Uh huh."<br>"So… what's your favorite color?"

Bianca finds herself laughing softly as Marissa takes another pull from her beer, quirking one eyebrow in challenge. So, Bianca sighs in temporary, albeit pleased, defeat.

"Well, I guess… I don't know, green… maybe?" Bianca makes it sound more like a query than an answer and that causes Marissa's body to shake with quiet amusement. The initial discomfort is gone and Bianca is feeling more at ease with this woman than she usually does with anyone – even family – so she takes the tip of her shoe and almost playfully nudges the side of one of Marissa's legs.

"Are you **laughing** at my color choice?"  
>"Not at all."<p>

Bianca looks skeptical and Marissa grins even more. In fact, Marissa cannot remember the last time she has smiled this much and this genuinely. It's like there has been this invisible and previously unknown tightness in her chest; a knot she has learned to live with. But now those ropes unfurl, now those ropes loosen and spread out in release.

"So, c'mon, what does the color green say about me?" Bianca asks as she sits her empty bottle on the floor by her feet.  
>"Oh, it says <strong>so much<strong> about you…" Marissa intones in a voice of mock seriousness and Bianca smirks just a bit in response.  
>"I don't think you have a clue what it means. You are all bluff… <strong>just<strong> like a lawyer."

Marissa gasps in good-humored shock. And this time she is the one to lean over, to continue this crossing of all lines that probably should not be crossed, and she lightly slaps the back of her hand against Bianca's thigh.

"I **totally** know what it means!"  
>"Then <strong>prove<strong> it!"

Marissa can prove it, too. During the long hours of studying (or sometimes frantically cramming) for exams in law school, she would take a weekend to read just about anything that had absolutely nothing to do with law. And one day that just happened to be a book on the meaning of colors. For whatever reason, Marissa never forgot the interesting tidbits of information in that book.

And so she knows that blue can mean sadness or magic; red can mean love or aggression; yellow can mean optimism or cowardice. The color that someone likes can reflect the dual nature of that person – the best and the worst all in one hue – and Marissa finds that endlessly intriguing.

Even now, with Bianca Montgomery watching her with a mirthful gaze, Marissa is tallying up the meanings of the color green in relation to this woman.

But Marissa isn't ready to go there just yet. It's not late enough yet; she's not had enough to drink just yet. And, yet, Marissa knows that tonight will be a night of revelations – hers, Bianca's – and the likelihood that it will go far beyond favorite colors is high.

"It means you have an unnatural love for St. Patrick's Day." Marissa states with a mischievous little smirk and Bianca rolls her eyes once more.  
>"I was right. You have <strong>no idea<strong> what it means."  
>"Fine, fine… Moving on to the next question."<p>

/

Around eight p.m., Marissa brings out a couple of plates of whatever she could find in the kitchen – which turns out to be a combination of cheeses, warmed-up tortillas, some stale corn chips, and some salsa verde that she whipped up herself three days ago.

"Sorry, it's not much. I haven't done any _**real **_shopping in a week." Marissa apologizes.  
>"I'm not complaining. Food is food." Bianca assures the other woman and it is not a false statement either. If one of her children were here, she might feel compelled to wish for more than a few odds-and-ends of the edible world. But with a stomach steadily filling up with beer, Bianca is more than happy to wrap one of the tortillas up with cheese and salsa and call it a meal.<p>

So, they eat and continue to drink and carry on with their game of twenty questions. They have bounced between the frivolous and the not-so-frivolous during this verbal exploration. But neither one of them have backed down from giving an answer – even if the answers are sometimes a little more evasive than directly honest.

Marissa learns that Bianca's favorite time of the year is winter.

"_Because my girls love it, you know, Christmas and all of that. I get to see the holiday through their eyes and that makes it wonderful."_

Bianca learns all about the song that Marissa calls her favorite.

"_It's one my father used to sing to me as a kid; it's called 'Forever More'… Just hearing it in my head can make me feel better on a crappy day."_

Neither one of them really believes in ghosts but, if they have seen a horror film, they still turn on every light around them – just in case. Marissa has always wanted to go to Ireland; Bianca has always wanted to see Machu Picchu. They get into a very amusing debate over which food is best to eat in the middle of the night – Bianca's vote goes towards cold leftovers (_'like Chinese or pizza'_) whereas Marissa opts for the sweeter approach (_'a slice of chocolate cake'_). They agree to disagree on that one.

And all the while, the space between them is narrowing and not just in the metaphorical sense either.

With each question and each answer, they have found a way to move closer and closer to one another. If Marissa were to stretch her leg out, it could easily go over Bianca's lap. If Bianca were to reach out now, she could slip her arm comfortably around Marissa's waist.

Then there are the looks going on between them ; sometimes quick, sometimes lingering. Marissa turns her head to the side, giggling over something said, and Bianca notices the blush of pink to the woman's pale face; she notices the way Marissa's red hair tumbles and falls over the skin of the woman's throat.  
>Bianca will deliver an answer with some personal anecdote attached and, in listening, Marissa will find herself getting lost in those brown eyes; she follows the curve of Bianca's lips and catches herself wondering what it would feel like touch those lips as they move.<p>

There are other questions they have yet to ask, though.

_Are you gay? Are you straight? Does it __**really**__ matter?_

They are so close to each other now; they are talking in between laughter and whispers, in between soft admissions and solid bantering.

_Are you flirting with me? Do you want me to return the favor?_

It is the gleam within Marissa's gaze; it is resting in the corners of Bianca's smile. It strengthens each time they touch – tactility born of quick comfort, easy excuses for contact.

_Is this happening? Do you __**want **__it to happen?_

Somewhere, there is the ghost of Reese. Somewhere, there is the ghost of J.R. Somewhere, there are all the mistakes and all the stumbling and all the regrets. But those things are not here, not now, not when Marissa and Bianca look at each other for a second too long.

_Will this be one night?_

Bianca moves her body, just a little bit, and the cushion beneath her dips. And like ripples in water, Marissa's body moves as well and rocks into Bianca – just for moment, just the faintest brush of their shoulders. But that's almost enough to bring down that last border; that's almost enough to cause them to truly collide.

_Or will this night be more than that?_

And around ten p.m., that still raging storm finally takes out all the lights in Mexico City.

/ / /

**To Be Continued-**


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay. I'm a liar, lol. **

**But for real this time: the next part is the ****last part**** – no ifs, ands, or buts.**

/

For Marissa, the darkness that surrounds herself and Bianca reminds her of a night many, many years ago. It was the first night she truly spent on her own; unknowingly abandoned by people she did not know and left adrift by the parents she had always adored. She wasn't some poetic or brooding kind of person by nature – she always enjoyed being silly, she used to make up songs as a child and sing them at the top of her lungs… But that night, many many years ago, Marissa learned a hard lesson about life.

_It isn't always sunshine; there are not always songs to sing; love can die and leave you lonely._

And Marissa grew to dislike the night, to dislike how even the shadows were hidden from view. The endless hours spent in blackness only reminded Marissa of the fathomless spaces within her own heart; places still painfully empty and still bitterly opaque.

But this night is different in so many ways.

Marissa is not alone on this couch. She is close enough to Bianca Montgomery that she can almost feel the heat coming from the other woman's body; a steady line of warmth, from the top of the shoulder and all down the arm. As if it were a brand new highway, this sensation of near-contact rolls out in front of Marissa like smooth pavement and the temptation to explore is overwhelming; the temptation to follow this road to somewhere unforeseen and exciting just pushes away old terrors as easily as a hand sweeps papers off of a desk.

Tonight, she wants to wipe the slate clean and start over.

Tonight, Marissa wants to remember how to sing again.

/

For Bianca, it is the storm itself that drags her back to another time; it is the way the blue light shoots across the sky and the way the walls of this apartment seem to rattle that tugs her, unwillingly, to a whole other world. Therapy can only save so much of a person and so the rest of her soul remains tarnished; she remains torn apart because there are some wounds that just cannot be healed. Bianca has tried every method of rebuilding herself, using every kiss as a balm and every moment of standing tall as a testament to how far she has come from that night so long ago.

That stormy night, though, taught Bianca things that she can never forget – no matter how hard she tries to not remember.

_Innocence only lasts so long; sometimes evil will win the fight; sometimes you become the monster, too._

And so when the rains fall too hard, when the wind picks up and shakes the tree limbs, when the clouds rumble in with fierce intent, Bianca feels every muscle in her body tighten. She subconsciously prepares for a battle that is long over; she readies herself for a blow that has already come and gone

But this storm is different in so many ways.

Bianca isn't walking into trouble this time; she isn't trapped by a combination of flood waters and mind-numbing fear. She is sitting here with Marissa Tasker and even in this sudden darkness she can still see the woman's smile; even in this sudden silence she can still hear the woman's laugh. Like the rushing tide returning to the shore, Bianca is gently pulled away from the past and towards the present – and that other tempest is left to drown in the face of this new and unexpected attraction.

Tonight, she wants be in this moment only and leave everything else behind.

Tonight, Bianca wants to finally be reborn.

/

Three candles are lit and, when Marissa looks over at Bianca, she catches the tail-end of some emotion fleeing from the woman's gaze. The warm glow of each flickering flame against Bianca's face seems to tell a small story – one that Marissa cannot possibly know the details of, one that Marissa cannot look away from, and one that Marissa fears will end much too soon.

For the second time today, Marissa speaks without analyzing the words to fall out of her mouth.

"...Are you okay?"

Such a straightforward inquiry but with the potential for such complicated responses; it is nothing like the concern conveyed in Marissa's office, though, where the outline to follow had a kind of structure Marissa could easily guess at – a marriage ending, a life changing, the death of love.

This time, Marissa wants to know if Bianca Montgomery is **truly** okay – with the loss of power in this city, with the storm outside that keeps beating down upon the land, with being here, on this couch and in this room.

_Are you okay with this undefinable thing going on between us?_

Perhaps Marissa should be asking herself these questions. Perhaps she shouldn't want to dig up those ancient melodies inside of her bones and let the songs pour out from her lips. Perhaps she should end all of this now, before that last great divide is conquered and there is no going back.

_Am I really okay with how much I want you?_

And 'want' is such a defining notion, filled up with so much desire and so much expectation. It is a sensation that sneaks up on you and blinds you to all other avenues; it knocks the need for stability to the ground and leaves it in the dust.

But Marissa knows what happens when you wake up the next day. The fire that once raged will turn to ash; the passion that set you alight like touch-paper is cool against your morning skin.

Marissa knows what 'want' can do to a person, what it can do to **her**.

_And yet…_

"I will be." Bianca replies with this lovely mixture of surety and tenderness in her voice, as if this is the only answer that will ever matter – to either of them.

…_I am more okay than I have ever been._

/

There is a long history within Marissa's features, endless passages to some other existence, and Bianca knows that there will never be enough time to know each and every line written down upon this woman's body. There won't be a courtship; there won't be a litany of promises made and there won't be any fanciful wishes granted when the sun rises. This wasn't even meant to happen, not on one of the saddest days in Bianca's life, and her heart isn't ready to trust in more than this one night.

But here, in the semi-darkness, some stupid and crazy and wonderfully romantic part of her **aches** to believe – to believe that she did choose this path purposefully, to believe that she has met someone amazing and to not let go just yet, to believe in love-at-first-sight when love seems so completely unbelievable these days.

"What about you?" Bianca turns the query back around and watches as the words roll over Marissa's face, as the woman dips her head down almost self-consciously and that red hair falls down like a curtain. The urge to reach out and to push the strands back is overwhelming for Bianca; her fingers clench automatically, growing rigid with the denial of movement.

"What about me?" Marissa returns, keeping her head mostly lowered but those eyes flick upwards and reveal the real response not yet given. And another answer, too honest and too raw, runs through Bianca's head like a freight train.

_**Everything**__ about you, Marissa…_

They stare at each other silently for a second or two, knowing that this is it – no plane to carry Bianca away, no taxi waiting downstairs, no wife to stay loyal to and no husband to betray, no Pine Valley past to dig up and share, no future to try and form a world around.

There is just air between them now and one more question to go before this moment reaches its beginning and its conclusion.

"Are **you** okay?" Bianca clarifies softly, to which Marissa offers up a faint smile and fingertips that were a mere breath away are suddenly sliding into a very real caress; a connection that has been begging to be fully realized is now terrifyingly and wondrously present along the top of Bianca's hand.

"Yea… Yea, I am…"

/

No more talking. No more games to play. No lies to tell because all the words are in the shadows now. No truths to admit because the most important things are already laid bare.

And it's funny how something so simple can happen – like a touch that doesn't quickly end, like acknowledgement given with just leaning in – and, yet, these small actions can tear the very fabric of the world apart; destroying all the moments that have come before.

/

The pause, right as it is about to occur, allows just enough time for Bianca to sigh and for Marissa's eyes to close – and then they are kissing.

/

Everyone is different and every time is different.

You learn certain things when you sleep with someone; paying attention to what causes a moan or what brings about too much silence, noticing where the body likes to be lightly handled or where that very same body likes to be treated a little more roughly.

And you learn to not compare this lover to any other, too. They won't say your name in the same way and they won't necessarily look deeply into your eyes; this isn't love-making with the person you made vows to – this is just sex, after all.

Marissa learns that there are places, such as the juncture where Bianca's neck meets Bianca's shoulder, which elicit the most exquisite kind of release – a gasp mixed with a groan, rising up from the woman's chest and past parted lips – and Marissa, in a moment colored quite happily with lust, decides that that is a sound she would like to hear as many times as possible before the dawn inevitably breaks.

Bianca realizes that each kiss that goes further down Marissa's body, lightly grazing the breasts or skimming across the torso, sets off a kind of trembling beneath the flesh and the bones – an earthquake barely held back, revealed with hips that like to jerk and fingernails that like to drag – and Bianca, breathless with this minute of sexual power, watches Marissa come undone.

/

But everyone is so vastly different and this time is so very different, too.

And there's that pause, right as it is about to occur, that allows just enough time for their eyes to meet; just enough time to catch a glimpse of forever – and then they fall away again.

/ / /

**To Be Continued-**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks to any and all who read this. I know that this ending may seem vague/not traditionally happy but this was the tiny vision I had, so stick to it I must. **

**And to Deanna D. Horton, your praise is amazing; thank you very much. Getting published is a small aspiration of mine, so I will let you know if/when that day occurs. **

**Carry on.**

/

Bianca closes her eyes against the washed out daylight, against the murmuring of different languages all around her, against the languid motion of white wings past the thick panes of glass.

_Such a grey morning and no sunlight yet; candles melted down to nothing more than an unmoving sea of wax. And there, underneath her relaxed palm, rises the smooth breathing of another – inhale, exhale, repeat. And just beyond that is the heart, beating steady in slumber, beating so steadily that she can count out a tune to the drumming._

_One… two… three… one… two… three…_

The run-on sentence of flight numbers calls out overhead and Bianca opens her eyes once more; she stands up in one fluid movement and shoulders her carry-on bag with ease, moving past chattering families and people on cell phones and the outstretched legs of those still waiting.

_Ever so softly, she runs her fingers up and down Marissa's side – from the back of the shoulder and then slowly to the front again, around the curve of one breast and along each rib and curling quite deliberately at the hip… then she glides upwards again, a slightly different path but basically the same as before. _

_Over and over; memorizing and savoring, like taking a sensory photograph of Marissa Tasker still asleep._

Bianca sits down, glad for a window seat, and watches as the plane taxis around the tarmac. She watches all those previous clouds get pushed away, puddles deep on the pavement and everything taking on the hazy qualities of a humid day to come. The man sitting beside her smells like cigar smoke and after-shave, shaking out the papers of his Wall Street Journal with self-importance, so she stares a tad more ardently at the world outside of this cushioned cabin.

She could have paid for first-class; she could have even taken a private jet.

But this was a quick trip, this was meant to be a secret sort of act, this was supposed to be uninvolved and uncomplicated.

She took the path of least resistance.

_And so she gets up because she cannot ever stay; she gets up and gets dressed again, clothes somewhat wrinkled with lying carelessly on the floor. She cups cool water and dips her face into it, to wake up from a long night and to wake up from this unrealistic dream. _

_There, in the mirror, Bianca shakes off this moment and prepares to go home. She loses sight of that woman who needed someone, loses sight of that woman who wanted just for the sake of wanting, loses sight of that woman who broke apart so wonderfully with Marissa's eager touch._

_She'll take the path of least resistance today._

The force of the take-off is like a hand against Bianca's chest, holding her in place and shoving her back at the same time. And she grips the armrests tightly, fighting against inertia and fighting against the pinpricks of emotion that she cannot ever allow.

/

The client vacillates between building a shield of anger and tearing down the battlements with stifled weeping, back and forth like a desperate tennis match, and all Marissa can do is watch with sympathy but with no clue how to actually help. She just prints out the papers; she just puts an 'x' where a name must be signed, she just takes the money and allows each new face to run.

_The air pushes into her mouth and is followed by a tongue; tasting like someone new, tasting like herself, too. And all things are that much sweeter, tempered in a moment of passion with something as simple as a kiss – a kiss that steals oxygen, a kiss that erases days, a kiss that come with no strings attached._

_She sinks into that feeling like a stone into the ocean; willingly, quickly, disappearing into the oblivion of sensation without a second thought._

Marissa watches the traffic move outside this office window, gasoline fumes riding the airwaves and floating into her lungs through the screen, and she thinks about going away for a couple of days. She's got the money to escape for a while; away from the perpetual rat-race, away from making a living off of other people's personal failures.

_Between waking and dreaming, she feels the feather-light mapping of a touch and keeps her eyes shut; this is no time to stare, this is no time to want more than can be had, this is no time for confessions._

_But Bianca Montgomery's fingers go further than the flesh with their innocent questing. That touch goes beyond the surface and straight to the marrow; that touch burrows deep and finds purchase upon Marissa's stuttering heart and just won't let up – tapping out a rhythm, S.O.S, come and save me…_

The day is gone before she knows it; files closed up and computer shut down. She locks the door and, this time, there is no wayward thunderstorm to keep her from lazily walking home. It is just the sound of her feet moving past the men selling food, past the tourists, past the ornate crosses of the faithful, past the expatriates and the immigrants, and even past that Angel of Independence – golden and up-on-high, surveying from a distance.

And it is just the sound of her own feet moving, a dance only Marissa can hear.

One…two…three…one…two…three.

_Her eyes adjust to the dawn and she listens intently to the quiet all around; there isn't a woman by her side and there isn't a warm body on which to press back against. This is the morning after; this is just the morning after something that could have been everything…_

…_So, Marissa gets up from that bed and works out how to forget what will never be._

/

Bianca listens to Miranda and Gabby as they tell her about their day; the ups and downs of a child's life in glorious surround sound. A smile blossoms on her face, the kind of smile that has been rather elusive these days, and Bianca knows, without a doubt, that life will be alright once again.

Marissa slips into the taxi outside of Colonia Roma, suitcase by her feet, and the driver takes off underneath a clear and starry sky. She hasn't made up her mind about where she is going, leaving it all up to chance and fate and so forth. But Marissa knows that, wherever she lands, life will be alright once again.

/

green/grēn/ : represents love; inexperience; the base, natural desires of man; envy, jealousy; represents the heart chakra; growth, hope, regeneration, and rebirth

green means "to grow".

/ / /

**-end-**


End file.
